


Sanctuary

by spectral_musette



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banthas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, happiness au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectral_musette/pseuds/spectral_musette
Summary: A series of small scenes set in an AU in which Satine lives and follows Obi-Wan into exile on Tatooine. Features baby Luke, some banthas, and other nice things. The chapters are ordered chronologically, but each may be read as a stand alone short story.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 15
Kudos: 149





	1. In which Obi-Wan's penchant for freeing slaves in Mos Eisley results in an unexpected visitor

Satine had not yet gotten accustomed to being fully nocturnal, as many of the creatures native to Tatooine were. But she often tried to sleep through the heat of the afternoon, when she could. The hours after sunset, before the chill of the desert night fully took hold, were her favorite part of the day.

She was out in the bright moonlight just then, pulling ripe pallies off the vine that crept along the back wall by the garden, when she saw the shadow in the corner of her eye, something, someone moving around the house to avoid being seen.

The local tribes of Tusken Raiders regarded Obi-Wan with a kind of awe, largely thanks to his more than natural rapport with animals, and were deeply unlikely to be pilfering from their garden. All the same, she put down her basket of pallies and pulled the stunner from her belt as she hurried back inside.

“There’s someone out there.”

Obi-Wan looked up from beans he was shelling at the kitchen table with a grimace that was less surprised than Satine would have preferred.

“What did you do?” she asked flatly.

He’d borrowed Owen’s speeder to make a trip into Mos Eisley for vaporator parts that morning while she and Luke stayed at the Lars farm to visit with Beru and help with some chores. Such excursions to town were rarely without some kind of incident.

As much as she dreaded him putting himself in danger, she couldn’t wholly blame him. Obi-Wan’s compassion and intolerance for injustice were part of him, too deeply ingrained to ignore, even if he had to find clandestine avenues to exercise them, now. And they were sorely needed.

“What I always do,” he admitted grimly, squeezing her shoulder in passing, and pulling the blaster rifle from its shelf above the lintel of the garden door. It was mostly for show, unless the intruder was a heat-sick womprat. Those generally made more noise and mess, though. “Tell you all about it in a little while.”

“If you would’ve told me about it right away, I might’ve been expecting trouble,” she pointed out, following a few steps behind him, stunner still at the ready.

He had seemed pensive when he picked her up from the Lars farm, out of sorts, his entire body tense as she sat behind him in the Dewback saddle. At the time, she’d attributed it to their usual anxiety at letting Luke out of their sight for his periodic stays with Owen and Beru, and to the less than uncommon moods of melancholy Obi-Wan fell into, when the magnitude of his loss and loneliness overcame him. Her instinct was to try counter those moods by offering connection and intimacy, and she’d done so with fervent resolve when they’d gotten home. Love couldn’t wipe away grief, but it did serve as a lifeline, a beacon to help find one’s way through it.

“I meant to, but, if you recall, we were somewhat busy this afternoon,” he retorted dryly, his face flushing at the memory.

“I recall.” They had spent too many long years apart, too long getting by on stolen moments and longing, for her not to cherish his every expression of affection and passion.

“Who’s out there?” he called, stepping out of the doorway, blaster rifle in plain sight, and his free hand over the saber at his belt.

The dark heap of cloth over the basket of pallies shifted, and the figure stood.

The tattered robe fell away from the beautiful face of a young woman, and then kept falling, further revealing far more than was strictly necessary.

“Oh for pity’s sake,” Obi-Wan muttered in a huff, lowering the blaster rifle.

“Ben,” Satine scolded in a hiss from the shadows of the doorway. There was no good reason a gorgeous Twi’lek dressed in nothing but a few scraps of metal and silk couldn’t be a Hutt-funded assassin or an Imperial bounty hunter. Though, admittedly, concealing weapons might be a challenge.

“Oh, we’re old friends,” Obi-Wan said with a defeated sigh, reassuring her. He turned back to the intruder. “How did you get out here?”

“I stole a swoop,” the girl announced proudly in Ryloth-accented Basic. “Left it just over the dune. I stole a blaster too.”

“All right, the better question is _why_ …”

Her expression turned heartbreakingly vulnerable for a moment. “I thought…”

Satine immediately comprehended the situation: a captive bound for unimaginable degradation, suddenly granted freedom and shown kindness by a handsome stranger…

“Why didn’t you take the transport to Ryloth?” Obi-Wan asked, clearly not quite comprehending the situation.

“I don’t want to go back to Ryloth,” the girl said. “I’ll go to the Core. I’ll go all the way to Coruscant and become famous and when some horrible Imperial wants me, I’ll poison him, or shoot him in the…”

“All right,” Obi-Wan interrupted.

“Unless…,” she continued, voice soft, with an unsteady throb of emotion, “unless I stay.”

“Stay?” he repeated, bewildered.

“With you.”

Understanding at last, Obi-Wan put a hand over his very red face.

“All right,” Satine said, stepping out of the shadows to intercede at last. “Miss, you must be hungry.” She eyed the much emptier basket. “Would you like to come in?”

“I’ll just fetch the swoop before the Jawas find it,” Obi-Wan said, making a hasty escape.

The girl’s blush of mortification was plain against the delicate pink of her skin. Satine steered her into the kitchen and poured her a cup of bantha milk.

“He’s yours, isn’t he?” she asked, eyes wide and forehead crumpled.

“Afraid so,” Satine replied, as gently as she could manage.

“I misunderstood,” she said, shoulders slumped.

“No,” Satine soothed. “You met a person who was kind and courageous and beautiful, and you took a chance on finding love. I don’t blame you a bit.”

“He didn’t do anything to make me think he wanted me. Don’t be angry at him.”

“I’m not,” she promised, shaking her head. “He’s very handsome, and he has a charming way about him. It’s not the first time he’s turned heads and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

The girl drank the milk slowly, and Satine pulled bread and cheese from the cold pantry.

“Don’t you have family to go back to? Friends?” Satine asked as the girl ate quickly, manners and hunger clearly in conflict.

She shook her head. “I have some distant relatives, but my parents are dead. I… I thought I was leaving home to fight the Empire. A man came to my village and said he was recruiting fighters and spies. He said we’d be trained, and anyone who hated the Empire should join. And then he sold us all to the Hutts.” Her mouth twisted in bitterness as she swallowed hard. “Until your man deactivated our transmitters, I thought…” She paused to take an uneven breath, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes.

Obi-Wan had returned and was lingering in the entryway. Satine beckoned him into the kitchen.

“If you want to fight,” he said, evenness of his voice not matching the haunted look in his eyes, “try Onderon.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded.

“Do you need some credits?” Satine asked.

“He already gave us some.”

“Stole them from the slaver,” Obi-Wan added cheerfully.

“Can I get you… a change of clothes?” Satine offered tactfully.

“Wouldn’t say no.” She looked disdainfully at the dancer’s costume.

Satine left to find some traveling clothes in the bedroom, and Obi-Wan followed.

“She isn’t going to bite you,” she whispered.

“Anymore,” he added, raising his eyebrows.

“Anymore,” she agreed, pulling a few articles of clothing out of her trunk.

“I should go,” the girl said when they returned, standing from the table and then draining the last of the milk in her cup as she bundled the proffered clothes under her arm. “There’s a transport I want to catch before sunrise, and I should be able to win some more credits at sabacc.”

“Careful,” Obi-Wan said gravely.

“It’s all right,” she reassured him, not meeting his eyes. “I cheat.”

“Careful of that, too.”

“I cheat _well_ ,” she clarified. “I _am_ sorry,” she continued, addressing herself to Satine.

“There’s no need.” Satine reached out to grasp her hand and squeezed it softly.

“I hope I have what you have someday,” she added wistfully. “Just… uh… not _specifically.”_

Satine laughed. “I hope so, too.”

The girl turned to Obi-Wan, startling him by putting her hands on his shoulders and leaning close to kiss his cheek.

“Oh!” She put her hand to her own cheek, startled by the brush of his beard. “I don’t think I like that.”

Satine failed miserably at catching her laugh, especially at his brief indignant expression before he smiled ruefully.

The girl retrieved her tattered cloak and wrapped up in it before she mounted the stolen swoop. When she looked back, it was with a smile.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said softly, slipping an arm around Satine’s waist as they watched the swoop disappear over the dune.

“For what?”

“For sparing me most of that.”

“Well you didn’t waste any time making your retreat,” she pointed out.

“I thought it would be easier that way,” he protested.

“It was,” she admitted. She thought of the girl’s story, all the young and able of a whole village rounded up with false promises of rebellion and sold like animals at market. “What happened to the slaver?” she asked, heartsick.

“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you mean,” Obi-Wan reassured her.

“What happened?” she persisted. A monster like that…

“Unsavory fellow had a price on his head in a few systems. I merely lured him into the path of a few obliging bounty hunters.”

“Bounty hunters? Oh _Ben_ , you _didn’t_. Are you forgetting who _else_ has an exorbitant price on his beautiful, heedless, _ridiculous_ head?” she demanded, smoothing a hand through his hair and then tugging him close.

“They’d have to recognize me first.” He raised his hand in a familiar gesture, paired with cheeky half-smile that reminded her painfully of Qui-Gon. An image passed through her mind swiftly, the suggestion of an old man with thin white hair and a weather-beaten face; she knew Obi-Wan could make the illusion far more potent if he chose.

“Someday you’re going to try that trick on the wrong person,” she warned, frowning.

“Not today,” he said gently.

“I notice you didn’t bother with the façade of the old man when rescuing fair damsels, though,” she teased.

He grimaced. “I thought the regular one would suffice.” He rubbed at his beard.

“Evidently not, my love.” She laughed, pressing her forehead against his.


	2. In which Satine underestimates the effects of ultraviolet exposure in a binary star system

“It’s just a little pink.”

“You’d better check again, my love,” Obi-Wan said gently, examining her back.

Satine strained to try to get a look at the back of her shoulder.

“Let me just get the bacta.”

“Nonsense,” she sighed. “You’re not wasting our bacta on a _little_ …”

“Sunburn, and from the looks of things a fairly severe one.”

“I was only out a little while!”

Academically, of course, Satine knew very well that the binary stars would make quite a difference, as would the absence of the protective domes that sheltered the cities of Mandalore. But she was used to spending hours in the gardens in Sundari and not being bothered in the least, so her short walk that morning hadn’t seemed particularly hazardous.

“Did you have your scarf?” His expression of concern was particularly handsome, which softened her annoyance. A little.

“Of course I had my scarf!” she snapped. “I kept my head covered, but the wind was blowing so, and I suppose it shifted…”

“Evidently.”

“Oh just _say_ it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he protested.

“That’s the point. Just … go on.”

“I suppose you expect me to remind you …”

“ _Remind_ is not the word I had in mind.”

“All right, _lecture_ you about wearing the sun-blocking lotion.”

“It’s _sticky_. And I can’t exactly wash it off,” she complained.

“You get just as clean with the sonics and gel,” he argued reasonably.

“It doesn’t _feel_ that way.”

“Well, you’re welcome to not wear the lotion, but then you’d better only go out after the suns have set.”

“Or get burnt.”

“Or that. Please let me put the bacta on it?” His hand hovered over her shoulder, just shy of making contact, and his eyes were pleading. He had always hated seeing her in any kind of distress, eager to make it right. But bacta was an expensive commodity on Tatooine, and she preferred to maintain their modest stock for actual emergencies.

“Isn’t there anything else?”

“I can make a paste from some local succulents.”

“That sounds all right.”

“It’ll still sting for days,” he warned. “And then blister. And peel.”

“I’ve been sunburned before,” she reminded him. Several times, with her fair skin, for that matter. The worst she could remember was during that fateful year on the run. Qui-Gon had cautioned her to keep her shawl on and over her head, but it had been so hot on their long walk from the spaceport of some forgotten Rim world to their accommodations. And after so long in space, real sunlight had been so delightful – until a few hours later.

“I remember.”

As well he should – he’d brought her a local remedy from the marketplace and helped her apply it to the back of her neck and her shoulders with much the same expression of anxious concern that he was wearing just now.

“I’m fairly sure this is worse.” He frowned, the line between his brows deepening with worry.

“How much worse can it be?” As much as she suspected that Obi-Wan liked to treat her as his delicate lily, she had faced suffering enough that she’d hardly be laid low by minor skin irritation.

* * *

Obi-Wan came back into the house with a basket full of cactus cuttings with the spines removed to find Satine face down on their bed.

“I might be dying,” she told him, voice muffled by the pillow.

He shook the sand out of his robe and hung it on the hook by the door. “I seriously doubt that.” He sat down next to her, carefully shifting the nightgown straps to fully bare her back. There were two narrow stripes of pale, healthy skin amid the bright red sunburn. “Have you changed your mind about the bacta?”

“Let’s try the cactus paste first.” She turned her head to one side, peering up at him and trying to smile.

“As you like,” he assented, leaning down to leave a featherlight kiss on her shoulderblade.

“Ow,” she complained.

He picked up a piece of cactus and crushed it between his fingers, letting the pulp dribble down onto Satine’s back.

She let out a hiss of breath, burying her face in the pillow again.

He crushed a few more pieces until the sticky, viscous liquid had pooled along her spine, then started to spread it over her hot skin with as light a touch as he could manage. She let out a whimper, squirming in discomfort.

“This is absurd,” he said shortly, dropping the crushed cactus fibers back into the basket. “I’m getting the bacta.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t be obstinate, Satine. You’re in pain.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Satine.”

“Ben.”

She pushed herself up on her elbows, golden hair magnificently disheveled, blue eyes steely, and imperious expression somewhat marred by a lingering pout.

Wholly taken for a moment by her beauty and feeling a rush of affection even for her stubbornness, he leaned forward and kissed her.

She reached up to run a hand over his hair as she deepened the kiss. She tasted delicately of her morning tea and sand from her ill-fated walk.

She pulled away, gasping in a quick breath and then nuzzling against his cheek.

“What if the Raiders attacked or you got hurt tussling with the Hutt thugs? What if Luke was hurt or had an infection or…”

“Shh,” he comforted, stroking her cheek with the hand that wasn’t covered in cactus juice.

“We’ll save the bacta. Cactus paste will do very well, I’m sure.” She took his hand and interlaced their fingers, sticky pulp and all.

“You won’t be able to lie on your back for the next few days,” he warned.

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” she said archly.

He snorted, freeing his hand from her grasp to pick up another piece of cactus cutting. He could feel his cheeks flushing, no doubt as red as the burn.


	3. In which a sandstorm necessitates bringing a bantha calf into the house

“Sandstorm’s blowing in,” Obi-Wan announced grimly, eyes on the horizon.

Satine lifted Luke to her hip. He squirmed, eager to continue exploring the patio in the cooling afternoon after having napped through the midday heat. She followed Obi-Wan’s gaze to the beige smudge on the horizon. “It’s far off, still. Maybe it’ll miss us.”

“It may,” he agreed. “But I wouldn’t rely on it.”

“No. Nor would I. What do we need to do?”

“Any of the plants in pots can be shifted inside. For everything else, we’ll try to rig up some tarps to keep it from getting buried.”

“Will the Old Crank be all right?” Satine had been rather shy of their Dewback at first, but the big grumpy lizard was growing on her. She tended to regard him as a crotchety, eccentric neighbor who sometimes offered them rides, but she hadn’t yet worked up the courage to go anywhere with him without Obi-Wan along.

“The shed will hold up fine. I’ll shutter up the doorway and string a cable from the house in case we need to check on him or give him more feed before the storm passes.”

“What about Baby?” she asked, giving him a pleading look.

“Of course we’ll bring the calf in with us,” he soothed, stroking her cheek and giving her a charmingly lopsided smile.

He’d found the very young bantha calf only a few days ago, crying piteously for her mother as she wandered through the Jundland Waste. It was likely the mother had been separated from the herd while calving, then had fallen prey to a sarlacc, or perhaps been taken by a krayt dragon that had managed to overlook the calf. Obi-Wan had led the calf home with him until the herd’s migration brought them through the Waste again. Caring for the malnourished calf was an undertaking. In addition to bottle-feeding her every few hours, they groomed her and treated her for parasites. She wanted constant attention, following them about during the day, and Obi-Wan had been keeping an eye on her overnight in the shed until she was stronger (while the Old Crank loftily ignored her presence). All that, while they were taking care of Luke and keeping up with the various chores around the homestead, kept them quite busy, but Satine was utterly smitten with the creature, who was no taller than an ulik just yet, though a great deal broader and shaggier. Obi-Wan had forbidden Satine from naming the calf, hoping to ease the parting when the time came to return her to the herd; Satine had compromised by simply addressing her as “Baby.” Obi-Wan stubbornly referred to her as “the calf”, but had been apt to adopt Satine’s mode of address when it was his turn to give her a bottle.

Once they had the tarps anchored securely to the roof and the patio to shelter their garden, they set to work inside rearranging furniture, crates, and the potted plants to make an enclosure of sorts for Baby. She was not keen to go through the doorway into the house, as it was rather smaller than the open archway into the shed, but they managed it by putting Satine’s shawl over her head. Inside, she nudged at the furniture with her great shaggy head, no doubt feeling penned-in and anxious, but Obi-Wan managed to soothe her into settling down for a bottle just as the storm hit.

“There’s a good girl. Good Baby,” he murmured, brushing the hair away from her bright little eyes as she looked up at him, wide mouth working at the bottle, letting the occasional pale blue dribble fall to his lap. Satine combed her fingers through Baby’s fur along her back, trying to mimic the way she’d seen mother banthas groom their calves. Luke followed the whole process with wide eyes from the security of his playpen.

The wind moaned eerily as the sandstorm scoured the little house. Baby finished her bottle and then nudged her head against Obi-Wan’s side, working it under his arm.

“The herds press close to shelter the calves and stay together during storms,” he explained. They’d borrowed a holobook from Beru on bantha care and behavior, though Obi-Wan had read more of it than Satine had yet during his nighttime vigils in the shed. “I expect the contact makes her feel more secure.” Satine obligingly joined the huddle, though the proximity to Baby’s furry bulk was yet a little uncomfortably warm.

Luke, at least, seemed utterly unconcerned by the storm, absently mouthing the ear of the plush tooka that Obi-Wan had sewn for him as he watched them.

“Someday we’ll tell Luke all about the time when he was a baby that we brought a bantha into the house,” Satine predicted, scratching Baby’s forehead and then smoothing the fur around her little stubs of horns.

“I don’t expect she’ll still be around here by the time he’s old enough to remember her,” Obi-Wan agreed. “From everything I’ve read about the wild herds, they are quite keen to adopt orphans.”

“I know it’s for the best, but I’ll probably _weep_.”

“I won’t say I won’t miss her,” he said, a slow smile quirking at the corner of his mouth, “but I won’t mind not spending the night in the shed.”

“And I won’t be sorry to have you back in our bed,” she agreed, leaning close and kissing the spot where she knew a dimple lurked under his beard.

“I have been there, in the afternoons,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but it’s not the same as at night. It’s always far too hot to properly cuddle.”

“That didn’t stop you today.”

“I missed you.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “My love.”

Baby was snoring peacefully by the time they started getting Luke ready for bedtime, but the storm showed no signs of abating. Nor had it let up by the time they tucked him into his crib and Obi-Wan sang him to sleep with some haunting lullaby he’d learned in the Temple crèche.

“Go to bed,” he bade Satine, kissing her softly and smoothing a lock of pale gold hair from her forehead. “I’m going to stay out here and keep an eye on the calf to make sure she doesn’t get up to any mischief through the night.”

Rather than argue about it, Satine merely waited until he’d made himself comfortable on the cushioned ledge carved into the wall and then joined him, pressing close in the small space.

“You’re going to roll off and wake up on the floor,” he warned, chuckling softly as she nuzzled her face up under his chin.

“Acceptable risk for the cuddle,” she assured him, shifting a bit to get comfortable and finally nestling her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Are you frightened?” he asked softly, stroking her hair.

“Of the storm? A little anxious, I suppose. But we did have sandstorms on Mandalore, you know.”

“A different situation, you must admit.”

“Hm. I didn’t often have you with me.”

“Not very.”

For all the elegance of her old life in the palace in Sundari, comfort had never been in ample supply, especially the spiritual sort. She’d rarely even allowed herself to dream of the sort of scene she was living right now, wrapped in the arms of her beloved, quiet and safe and sheltered from anything that would harm them. There were worries, of course, but just now her tranquility was as unassailable to them as their little house was to the blowing sands. She tightened her fingers into the folds of his tunic and pressed a kiss against his chest. “There’s no way I’d rather pass the storm.”

“Well,” he said slowly. “I can think of one.”

She shifted to look up at him, raising her eyebrows, and he smiled, blushing even as he pulled her into a kiss.

He broke it all too soon with a reluctant sigh. “But unfortunately I suspect if we leave the calf unattended too long, she’ll start knocking over the plants.”

“Don’t you suppose we’d hear her from the bedroom?”

“I’m fairly sure I’d miss most cataclysms while I’m making love to you,” he confessed, meeting her gaze with a soft tenderness in his eyes that made her breath catch.

“Flattering. But perhaps she’ll be sleepy enough after her next bottle for us to steal away a little while.”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but desire seemed to be making some progress against better judgment. “Until then, I’m going to try to get a little rest.”

“Oh, am I keeping you awake?” she asked, amused, as she trailed a fingertip along his jaw.

“You know I live for the times you disrupt my rest,” he replied with smile. Then, he yawned; no doubt the past few nights of erratic sleep were catching up with him after all.

Satine kissed him lightly, then settled again with her head against his chest to try to sleep as well.

* * *

Satine woke when Obi-Wan shifted, trying to climb off the bench over her without rolling her off.

“Yes?” she prompted, blinking up at him as he held himself on his elbows over her.

“Feeding time.”

“Oh no you don’t, you know very well it’s my turn,” she countered, wrapping her arms around his torso and tugging at him.

“I was just going to prepare the bottle,” he protested, trying to free himself. They overbalanced on the edge of the bench, and the two of them toppled into a heap on the floor. It wasn’t far to fall, but he let out a huff, probably more of wounded dignity than discomfort. Satine couldn’t help giggling, gazing down fondly as she sprawled on top of him.

“The things you’ll do to be right,” she accused, shaking her head, and he laughed too.

Baby, roused by the commotion, shuffled over to investigate.

Obi-Wan, as promised, went to prepare Baby’s bottle with the powdered bantha milk and warm water, shaking it vigorously. Satine had been wary of giving Baby the powdered formula, but she consumed far too much for them to keep enough fresh milk on hand, and this particular product came highly recommended by the local bantha ranchers. Obi-Wan handed Satine the large bottle, the tiny bubbles forming a thin layer of foam on top of the pale blue milk, then went back to the kitchen to put on the kettle for tea.

“Are you making a cup for me?” she asked, as Baby settled with her front legs across Satine’s lap, drinking noisily.

“Of course.”

He set the tea cups on the small table forming part of the enclosure as he stepped over a crate.

“How’s she doing?”

Baby blinked contentedly, softly grunting as she worked on the bottle. “She’s nearly done. But my arm’s getting a little tired,” Satine replied.

“Do you want me to take over?”

“I can manage,” she denied, trying to hide her smile.

He settled beside her, gently taking her elbow, propping it on his knee, and then leaning to kiss her arm lightly. He stroked Baby’s face, reaching down to scratch under her wide chin.

Finished with her bottle, Baby settled on the floor, legs tucked up under her furry belly. Her breathing became slower and deeper, and she was soon asleep.

Satine moved away carefully when she felt sure Baby wouldn’t stir, and retreated to join Obi-Wan back on the cushioned ledge, claiming her cup of tea. Imported tea was expensive and inconsistently available, so they were in the midst of devising a brew of the herbs they grew. Tonight’s was spicy and a little sweet, and Satine smiled contentedly as she cradled the glass cup in her hand.

“A success?” Obi-Wan prompted, taking a sip.

“Resounding.”

“Better than yesterday’s?”

“Anything is better than yesterday’s.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” he defended, laughing softly.

“I used it to water the pallies.”

“I hope they appreciated my efforts.”

“I appreciate the effort, I’m just not willing to consume the failed experiments.”

“Failure is subjective.”

“Are you saying you liked yesterday’s tea?”

“Absolutely not,” he conceded finally. “It was terrible.”

She let out a short laugh and then curled close beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as he watched the sleeping bantha. She raised her head to nuzzle against his bearded jaw, and he obligingly leaned to kiss her. They proceeded this way, alternating between sips of hot tea and increasingly heated kisses.

“Do you really think she’ll wake up and destroy the house before we notice?” she asked, near the bottom of the cup.

“I think it’s a possibility. The question now is how much I care.”

As it turned out, not very much.


	4. In which a flower serves as an obvious metaphor

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Satine examined the pot of smoky brown glass made by one of the local artisans, she guessed. It seemed to contain a quantity of damp sand.

“Am I supposed to…” she touched the surface of the sand uncertainly.

“Absolutely not,” Obi-Wan replied, pulling it away from her and protectively cupping a hand over the top.

“So it’s a plant?”

“A… future plant,” he hedged.

“A seed?” she prompted with half a smile.

“Not precisely.”

“A root?”

“I’ll agree to that.”

“It must be special,” she observed, glancing over her shoulder at their hydroponic trough of seedlings, nurtured indoors until they were sturdy enough to be transplanted in the sheltered garden plot behind the house. “Because you didn’t make such a fuss about our vegetables.”

“Don’t listen to her, you’re all special,” he whispered to the seedlings.

So, as the days passed, Satine checked on the pot every morning, adding a sprinkle of water now and then, until a pale green shoot unfurled from the sand.

“I feel like I should name it.”

“Well. It’s small and green…” he mused.

“So we should name it after Master Yoda?”

“I’m going to have to start trying harder if you’re going to anticipate all my jokes.”

“I wish you would,” she teased.

The shoot unfolded into a leaf, joined by a stem with a bud.

“Bean!” Luke suggested, reaching chubby hands towards the pot.

“I don’t think so,” Satine replied, nuzzling her cheek against his pale hair as she held him in her lap. “But a good guess.”

The bud began to swell as the days passed, and the suspicion in the back of Satine’s mind did as well.

“It isn’t … it isn’t really a Mandalorian lily, is it?”

“I hope so,” Obi-Wan confessed, leaning against the windowsill to examine it with her. “But it’s not easy to tell it from the similar species just from the bulb. I got it from a Mando trader, though.”

She remembered seeing them sprouting through the sand outside a dome that housed a water treatment facility near Sundari, once. It was the first time she’d ever seen uncultivated plant growth in that part of Mandalore. She’d marveled at the resiliency of life, at the withered old bulbs that must’ve been buried so deep, perhaps unearthed by a sandstorm, nurtured by an accidental leak from the water pipes.

She’d shown them to Obi-Wan during one of his diplomatic visits, and the two of them had dug the flowers out of the sand when the facility’s maintenance crew fixed the leak, transplanting them in her conservatory at the palace.

She didn’t suppose that her conservatory had survived well, considering the destruction in Sundari. But perhaps, in time, the lilies could sprout again, as they had outside the dome.

It was hard not to think of their lives on Tatooine as being like the lily trying to grow in the sand. But at least Tatooine wasn’t a ruined world like Mandalore; the desert was ancient, and the flora and fauna there had adapted to the harsh climate. She could adapt too, even though the only dome protecting her from the relentless suns and the stinging sands was the roof of their little sandstone house.

But this haven was enough for the swelling bud of the lily, which finally uncurled into the familiar snow-white flower.

And it was enough for Satine.

“I think I’m pregnant,” she whispered as she lay in Obi-Wan’s arms in the cold hours before dawn.

“I think… I knew,” he whispered back, voice uncertain.

“You knew?”

“I dreamed of her. And then I felt…” He shifted, laying a hand on her abdomen, warm and gentle through the thin linen of her nightdress.

“Tell me.” She moved closer against him. “Not like the lily, secrets and surprises. Tell me everything.”

He smiled at her, and then his eyes fluttered shut. “It wasn’t much, fragments of images, indistinct, like looking up through water. She looked like you. And I felt … such love.” His brow furrowed, and she saw the glint of a tear trail down his face.

She pressed her forehead against his, and they kissed until both suns rose.


	5. In which Satine is annoyed by a sandstorm and galactic politics

“Why did we come to this pestilential sand pit?”

The data reader hit the table with a dull thud, and Satine started pacing around the room.

Still groggy, Obi-Wan propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed at his (unsurprisingly) dry and gritty eyes. It was wisest to sleep through the hottest part of the afternoon, but Satine had recently been too sensitive to the heat to fall asleep.

“The holonet was up?” he inquired, taking her question as rhetorical.

“The holonet was up,” she confirmed. “It’s down again. There’s a sandstorm blowing in, blocking the satellite signal from Anchorhead.”

“Luke,” he said in alarm.

Satine shook her head, golden curls falling out of the scarf she’d twined around her head as protection against the sunslight. “I already commed Beru. They’re happy to keep him for the night, or until whenever the storm passes.” Tatooine sandstorms could, after all, blow for days.

“Kind of them,” he murmured.

“Hah.”

“What does that mean?” he asked mildly.

“It means that I’ll be surprised if we ever get him back,” Satine snapped.

“Satine,” he chided.

She let out of a huff of exasperation. “Well, Beru has been a great deal less chummy since I started to show.”

“I expect it’s hard. They’ve been trying to have children for how many years, and then we show up with a nephew we won’t let them keep more than a few days out of the week and start blissfully procreating.”

“I’m not sure how blissful it is _just_ now,” Satine retorted, twisting and putting a hand at the small of her back.

“Come and rest?” he suggested, patting the bed beside him.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t be so… handsome and affectionate. I’m too cross.”

“Was it something on the ‘net?” he asked carefully, sitting up.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Are you sure it’s….”

“Oh _Ben_ ,” she scolded. “What do you suppose I was looking up, _How to hide with your Jedi lover in the Outer Rim_?”

He laughed a little, smiling at her and shaking his head.

“I told you not to do that.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Are you even trying?”

“Tell me what’s troubling you,” he persisted. “Is it Mandalore?”

“It’s _everywhere._ But yes, it’s Mandalore.”

“They’re collaborating?”

She nodded, closing her eyes tightly to hold back tears.

“Please come here.”

She went to him, curling against his bare chest. He pulled the scarf off the rest of the way, kissing the top of her head and stroking her wet cheeks.

“Is it my fault?” she whispered.

“Of course it isn’t,” he promised.

“I took the fight out of them and then abandoned them.”

“Satine. _Nothing_ can take the fight out of a Mandalorian, not _even_ pacifism.” He kissed her lightly on the nose. “And if anything, _they_ abandoned _you_.”

“I did my best. I did what I believed was right.”

“I know you did, my love.”

“I didn’t want to go.”

“It’s just another exile,” he soothed. “It’s not forever.”

She rolled onto her back, wiping her eyes. “Ah yes, I am rallying my support here in this hub of civilization. Practically a government in exile.”

He kissed her temple. “You have me.”

“Of course, the most _spectacularly_ wanted man in the Empire.”

“Would you like to repeat that, the bounty hunters in Mos Espa might not have heard you.”

“Do you know what the _worst_ part is?” She rolled back onto her side, facing him, the soft swell of her belly pressing against him, the bright presence of their child warm, secure, and content. She ran a hand through his hair and then let her fingertips trace his features.

“Tell me.”

“How absurdly, _wonderfully_ happy I am,” she told him, pulling him into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously posted on Tumblr (3-30-2017):
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/159019076519/one-of-many-possible-slightly-less-sadness-aus


	6. In which toddler Luke wakes during the night and Obi-Wan milks a bantha

The desert nights were cold. Obi-Wan and Satine kept the portable heater in the little room that served as the nursery and piled blankets on their own bed, curling close to each other. Satine had her head under the blanket, pale gold hair peeking out in a silken bundle of loose curls - it was getting long.

Another golden head appeared beside the bed. Luke clutched his blanket close.

“Are you cold?” Obi-Wan asked, softly, so as not to wake Satine.

Luke shook his head.

“Thirsty?”

He nodded this time.

“Water or milk?”

“Mm.”

“Milk it is.”

He sat up slowly, but Satine stirred anyway, peering out of her cocoon of blankets as Obi-Wan got out of bed.

“Hello, darling,” she whispered to Luke. “Can’t sleep?”

Luke showed her his empty cup.

“Oh, I see. Can I have a kiss?” 

Luke climbed up into the bed, burrowing into the blankets to kiss Satine on the cheek. He put one chubby hand on her swollen belly. “Baby,” he whispered.

“No kicks just now. The baby is sleeping, I think,” Satine told him, picking up his little hand and kissing it.

“I’m baby,” Luke said softly.

“Oh, darling,” Satine cooed, cuddling him close. “We’ll love you just as much when the baby comes, I _promise_.”

Obi-Wan tore himself away from the affectionate scene to make his way to the kitchen. Despite their assiduous sweeping, the floor was slightly sandy under his bare feet. Opening the door of the cold storage unit, he picked up the milk pitcher to find it rather light.

He carried it back to the bedroom, where Luke was contentedly curled in Satine’s arms. He held out his cup eagerly, blue eyes wide.

Obi-Wan poured out what was left in the pitcher, but it made a sad little cupful. Luke guzzled it down eagerly.

“Please.” He held it out again.

“I’m afraid that’s the lot, little one. I can go out and see if there’s anyone in the milking shed. Do you want to stay with Aunt Satine?”

“Come,” Luke said, holding out his arms.

Obi-Wan sat down on the edge of the bed so that Luke could clamber up onto his back. Satine tucked his blanket around him like a little cape.

“Up!” Luke said eagerly, and Obi-Wan stood.

Obi-Wan did his best not to think of some of the other children he’d carried on his back.

He didn’t think of the spindly-limbed Togruta who’d sprained her ankle in the deep mud of a battlefield.

He didn’t think of the other little blonde boy with blistered feet from his new boots.

In the night air, the tears were cold on his face, and he brushed them away quickly.

He’d planted scrub grass and succulents to attract passing banthas to the shelter of the shed. When their calves were weaned, the cows tended to spend a warm night and wait to have their heavy udders emptied.

“Hello there,” he greeted the young cow nibbling on a spray of dull green scrub along the outer wall of the outbuilding.

“Mrrrrrrr,” she replied.

Luke giggled.

“Got something for you, dear one,” he said in his most soothing voice, offering a dried pallie in his palm.

She gobbled the sweet treat eagerly, nudging him with her shaggy head to beg for more as she followed him into the shed.

“Of course. But let me get a bit familiar first, all right?”

She stood patiently as he parted the curtain of shaggy fur, making sure to rub his hands together to warm them before filling the pitcher.

Pitcher filled, he set it aside. He gave the young bantha a few more pieces of dried pallie while Luke reached forward to scratch her broad forehead. Obi-Wan emptied a sack of bean pods from their garden into the trough, sprinkled with a cup of water. Banthas didn’t drink much, but they were particularly fond of wet greens, and she munched them contentedly.

“Thank you, dear one,” he told her.

“Thank you,” Luke echoed.

They took the pitcher back into the house, and Obi-Wan filled Luke’s cup on the counter.

“You mind it warm?”

Luke shook his head and accepted it gratefully.

“Enough for baby?” he asked thoughtfully, halfway through the cup, his upper lip coated in pale blue cream.

“The baby won’t be drinking bantha milk for a while, but yes, I’m sure there will be plenty for both of you when the time comes,” Obi-Wan reassured him, wiping his little face with a soft kitchen towel.

Luke nodded sagely and finished his milk.

Obi-Wan helped him brush his teeth again, and then carried him back to say goodnight to Satine.

She was sitting up still, combing through her tangled curls with her fingers, pale and lovely in the moonlight. Obi-Wan felt his breath catch in his throat.

“How were the banthas,” she inquired, smiling at them.

“Fuzzy,” Luke told her.

“I wouldn’t expect them any other way,” Satine replied, giggling.

“Back to bed?” Obi-Wan prompted.

“Sleep here,” Luke said decidedly, reaching for Satine.

“But it’s nice and warm in your bed,” Obi-Wan reasoned.

“Just until he falls asleep,” Satine wheedled.

“What can I do when the pair of you gang up on me?”

Luke clambered down, nuzzling up to Satine.

“Sweet dreams, my darling,” she told him, kissing his pink cheek as she tucked the blankets around him. “I love you.”

“Love you,” he repeated, closing his eyes.

Obi-Wan leaned down to kiss Luke’s little blonde head, and Satine petted his hair soothingly. She reached up and smoothed Obi-Wan’s hair off of his forehead as well.

“Aren’t you going back to sleep?” Satine inquired.

“Thought you might like a cup of tea while I’m up.”

“Just some cool water, please.”

“Of course.” He kissed her lightly.

It was probably the general dryness of the climate, but it seemed that water had never tasted quite as good as it did straight from the condenser of a moisture vaporator. Obi-Wan climbed the ladder and pushed up the skylight to access the roof unit, opening the spigot and stealing a mouthful before he filled Satine’s insulated bottle. The water was pleasantly cold, and the minerals leeched from the bit of sand that he could never entirely keep out of the machinery prevented it from tasting as flat as distilled water usually did.

He climbed back down, taking a moment to look up at the stars before he closed the skylight. The constellations were starting to become familiar. The star of Geonosis was bright; Christophsis was the head of a serpentine formation; Naboo sat like a lone jewel in the midst of the glow of a nebula; the stars of Mandalorian space were dim and distant, easy to miss unless you knew what you were looking for. So far in the Outer Rim, the night sky spread out before him a map of loss and heartache. Small blessings, though – Mustafar’s ruddy star wasn’t visible at this time of year; it hovered malevolently about the horizon near dawn in the winter.

Satine was still petting Luke’s hair with gentle fingers. His breathing was deep and even, and he lay with one little hand outstretched, as if searching for one to hold. Obi-Wan wondered if Leia slept the same way in the royal palace of Alderaan.

He set the bottle on the nightstand, and leaned to gather Luke up to carry him to his own bed.

“Please. Just a little longer,” Satine asked. Even in the dimness, he could tell her eyes were wet.

“Are you thinking about Korkie?” he whispered. There was not really any need; once he was out, Luke slept like a rock.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

“I’m sure he’s…”

“You’re not sure. How can you be?”

“Because his aunt raised him to be determined and strong.”

“I tried to make a future where he’d never have to fight. I can’t protect him anymore. But I can still protect Luke.”

“He’s just going across the hall to bed, Satine, not to war.” _Yet_.

“I love him so much,” she said, kissing his hair softly.

“He adores you.”

“Why do you hold back with him?”

“Do I?” he asked in mild surprise, slowly sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You’re gentle and soft and patient. But there’s something… distant, sometimes. Like you’re afraid of loving him too much.”

“You know why,” he replied.

Satine propped herself up on her elbow, her light nightdress shifting to bare one pale shoulder. “He’s not Anakin,” she reminded him, in that incisive way of hers.

“Don’t.”

“He’s Padmé’s son too, Ben,” she persisted.

“It isn’t… I _do_ love him, Satine.”

“I know.”

“I’m trying.”

She reached up, stroking his face gently, and he caught her hand and kissed her fingers.

“Of all people,” he said slowly, “I know that you understand.”

Unimaginable loss, betrayal by one you loved, having your home and your way of life and all you ever worked for and built taken from you…

“I don’t think anyone ever fully understands another person’s pain, my love. But I’m trying, too.”

He leaned to kiss her.

“All right,” she relented. “You may take him back to bed.”

He lifted Luke, warm and small and sturdy, and Satine tucked the blanket through the crook of his arm. It was just a few steps down the hall, and Obi-Wan knelt to tuck him carefully into the little bed. Luke gave a few light snorts and sighs, but soon settled back into his slow, steady breathing, favorite blanket clutched in his fists. Obi-Wan watched him for a moment, and then turned back, silent but for the soft scrape of sand under his feet.

Satine’s mouth was still wet with the cold water he’d brought her when he kissed her, and “straight from the condenser” lost its top ranking for how water tastes best when you live in the desert.

“Guess who’s awake now,” she said, taking his hand and placing it on her abdomen.

Their baby had been kicking for about a month, and it never ceased to amaze him how one could discern the little head, a sharp elbow, a heel. He had precious little experience with pregnant women, save Padmé, and he hadn’t exactly been putting his hands on her. _Whatever Anakin might’ve thought, at the end._

There was a midwife in Anchorhead to whom they’d paid a visit when they were sure that Satine was pregnant. She’d dutifully run her tests with some rather antique but well-maintained equipment and recommended a few return check ups. However, she promised that when the time came, she wouldn’t be risking her neck riding a speeder out into the Jundland Wastes, so they’d better come to town or be prepared to deliver the baby themselves.

“You’re so solemn sometimes,” Satine said, stroking his hair while he kissed her belly. He straightened, meeting her gaze in the dimness. “You _are_ happy about it, aren’t you?”

There was a quaver in her voice, a line between her fair brows.

“Satine,” he said, and then lost his voice. He buried his face in her neck, one hand still lightly pressed against her belly and the other tangled in the silken mass of her golden hair.

After how close he’d come to losing her… that she was here with him, in his arms, bearing their child… that the sweet abandon of their love-making had made a _person_ , who was both of them and neither of them…

_That is not a particularly unheard of result, Obi-Wan_ , a dry voice in his head reminded him.

“Say _something_ ,” she begged. “Aren’t you generally considered to be eloquent, my love?”

“Happy?” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “Awed. Overwhelmed. I am changed, forever.”

“You are _dramatic_ ,” she chided, though the lightness and relief in her tone assured him that she wasn’t displeased with the response.

“You asked for eloquence,” he replied.

“We’ve both raised children before. We’re doing it again already.”

“Together, now,” he pointed out.

“Together,” she agreed, voice soft with feeling.

“Doesn’t it always change you?”

“Hm,” she replied. “Maybe it’ll make you a little less dramatic this time.”

He laughed, kissing her again, feeling her gasp of breath in his mouth, her smile against his lips, her fingers twined in his hair.

“I love you,” she told him, as she often did, in a warm murmur.

It was easier, somehow, to demonstrate the depths of his feelings for her in action, in countless aspects of the life they’d built together here, rather than to say the words. Maybe it was just habit. Love, for a Jedi, was something you lived, not something you talked about. Maybe the words seemed insufficient. Regardless, Satine liked to hear them, and by now he’d found that there wasn’t anything he could deny her.

“And I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously posted on Tumblr (1-2-2018 ):  
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/169227834464/another-snippet-of-the-satine-on-tatooine-au-ie


End file.
